


Always and Forever

by Imagining_in_the_Margins



Category: Let's Play (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, I thrive on the angst, I'm a disaster, Marriage, dream - Freeform, sorry Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins
Summary: Charles has the same nightmare of his ex-wife every night, until one night he sees someone else instead.
Relationships: Charles Jones/Sam Young
Comments: 12
Kudos: 264
Collections: Verde's Already Read





	Always and Forever

**Author's Note:**

> The song I reference in this story is the Merry Go Round of Life from Howl’s Moving Castle, in case anyone wants to listen while they read!

** Always and Forever  **

Charles was not dreaming – He was sure of that. This place was a _fucking nightmare_

He had spent many nights over many years in this exact place. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know what he would find, and in fact, he put it off as long as he could. But eventually he knew that his mind would continue to torture him until he let it happen. He had to open his eyes and see _her_.

Gwen’s familiar, cruel smile as she approaches _their_ bed that she had shared with someone else. Each time, he couldn’t do anything as she would grab his face and force a bitter, nauseating kiss. Unable to speak, he would watch her as she laughed before whispering, “Ffarwel, fy ngŵr ffôl.”

And then she was gone, and he was alone. He would lay there, thinking back to how foolish he had been. He would think of all the things he could have done differently—the time he wished he could take back. But Charles was not a fool anymore. Not usually, anyway. He knew that there was no changing what had happened. That’s exactly why he had resigned himself to this bed, letting the heavy, cold feeling settle over his heart. At least in this world he could see it coming.

Or so he thought.

This night, something changed. Charles heard soft humming coming from the hallway. He felt his heart stop. This was _not_ what was supposed to happen. There was someone, a woman, humming an unfamiliar song in his home. Was it her? Was this his brain’s new way of taunting him? Had he really grown that tired of his own complacency? 

But the song continued, and the smell of coffee and the beginnings of breakfast began to drift throughout the room. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes. Absolutely everything was the same, but somehow felt so different. It felt… warm?

Before he could think to question whether he could move, he brought his hands up to rub his face. Was he actually dreaming this time? He could feel his heart racing as quickly as his mind as he sat up.

What in the name of hell was happening to him? He knew he should be terrified, but the anxiety stemming from this aberration could only be described as _thrilling_. Still, Charles knew that horrible things were likely waiting for him through the door 

Grabbing his glasses, he slowly stood up and looked around the room once more. Among his normal possessions were artefacts he swear he’d seen before, but for some reason his brain seemed to be placing them purposefully out of focus. He almost put on his glasses, but decided it was best not to look too hard into his undoubtedly broken psyche, and placed them back on the nightstand.

He stood there, his hand on the slightly ajar door for far too long. He was torn between trying to figure out what was in store for him and just letting it happen. Truthfully, if this was a trick on himself to remember his ex-wife, would he even feel anything? Would it even hurt at this point?

There was something inside him begging him to open the door, to let himself face the truth of how he felt. To let go of the reins, just this once.

So he did.

The walk from his bedroom to the kitchen had never felt longer. He did not change his pace; he wanted to keep this feeling as long as he could. He clung so tightly to the hope he felt that something, anything. That he was still capable of change. That he could finally leave the bed she left him in alone.

But the sight before him nearly stopped the very heart he was unsure he still had. Because there she was, with her short brown hair tied in a messy half ponytail, donning nothing but his white dress shirt and silly lamb slippers.

Sam must have heard him, because she turned around with a surprised smile, before chuckling at the look on his face. “Bore da prydferth,” she said through the laughter.

Charles, for the first time in a long time, was speechless. He inspected every inch of the woman before him, but could find nothing wrong about her.

“I’m kidding, Charles.” She said with a playfully annoyed face, as if he was missing some secret joke between them.

“You just always wake up before me, so you always get to say it to me. I thought it would be fair I get to do it to you!” She gingerly picked up both cups of coffee, shuffling over to him and handing him a cup. He accepted but couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to say to her.

It was one thing that his new assistant (and future boss) had shown up in his dreams at all, but in _this_ dream? And like _this_? What was his brain trying to accomplish here? He was half expecting Gwen to walk through the door, or for Sam to disappear before his eyes, a reminder that any hope for a relationship would vanish as quickly as it came. 

But she didn’t, and while he was spacing out, he felt her gently slip her arm around his neck, pulling him down to her height so she could press a long, gentle kiss against his forehead. 

“What are you doing?” He finally spoke in a panicked surprise with a blush blooming across his face. It was somehow the first time the realization struck him that Sam Young was not only in his dream, in that dream she was in his home, making him breakfast, and _half naked._

“Checking your temperature.” She said matter-of-factly, tilting her head to the side as she concluded, “I thought you had a fever, but you don’t seem to.”

“Why would you think I have a fever?” He asked cautiously, and Sam shrugged. “You’re being weird.”

“Why do you think that might be, Miss Young?” Charles asked, finally testing the boundaries of his psyche. Her reaction was not that different from what he expected; her cheeks quickly went red and she immediately averted her gaze. But there was a hint of surprise on her face, and a slight, nostalgic smile. 

“Wow, I haven’t heard you call me that in years, I-I almost forgot what it felt like,” she laughed. As Charles processed what she said, he watched her reach out to grab his hand, and he let her. He watched the way she wrapped her tiny hand around a few of his fingers, and he swore his heart stopped.

Because that was the moment he saw them. Wrapped around each of their ring fingers were thin golden bands

He heard the sound of a coffee cup shattering, but he could bring himself to care. He pulled his hand out of hers, stumbling backwards.

“Charles!” Sam yelled, reaching out and grabbing his arm to hold him steady before he fell over.

“Darling, are you alright?” She asked, setting her cup down on the nearby counter before turning her complete attention to him. He couldn’t stop staring at his hand, trying to figure out why he would do this to himself. Why would he create this place?

Sam’s hands gently framed his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “What’s wrong?” She asked, the worry clearly written all over her expression.

“I-I… I have no idea.” He lied, thinking it easier to not fight what was happening, which happened to be the same excuse he gave to justify the way he leaned into her touch.

“I must be feverish, you’re right, Mi--.” He stopped, trying to catch his breath before he decided what to call her. What would he call her? She had already used the term darling, and apparently, he made a habit of calling her beautiful. But that didn’t seem right in this moment. 

“… Samara.” He whispered, lifting a shaky hand to cover hers. She nodded, but stayed there for a moment longer, enjoying the way it felt to have his hand over hers. When she finally brought her hands down, she playfully pushed him towards the door 

“Alright, alright, let’s get you in bed. I’ll bring your breakfast in there.” Charles opened his mouth to protest, but she interjected, “I know, crumbs in bed are terrible. But I promise you’ll live.” He smiled, for a moment thinking that she knew him too well.

But of course, she didn’t. Because this wasn’t real. This was not Sam Young, his assistant. This was the perverted caricature he had forced on her as another way to torture himself. This was so incredibly unfair to her. 

Yet, as she trailed behind him, her hands gently pressed against his back until he climbed into the bed, he didn’t want to think about the fact it was not real.

He wanted to burn this memory into his brain, to remember the way it felt to be taken care of. He wanted to remember the way she looked when she was preparing him a meal. Charles wanted to remember the feel of her lips against his skin, and to explore the avenues it opened.

What would happen, he thought, when he closed his eyes? Would the nightmare begin again? Would he wake to find Sam instead, coming to kiss him goodbye? This time, will he lose someone he never truly got to have?

Sam sat in the bed next to him, running a gentle hand through his hair. “My husband would never go to bed this easily without trying to drag me in with him,” she whispered.

Charles looked up at her and felt guilty. Even if she weren’t real, he wanted to make her smile. He wanted to hear her laugh and know he was the one who gave it to her. It was selfless, truly, for him to play along. At least, he’ll let himself believe that for now. 

He snaked an arm around her waist as he grumbled, “Well, Mrs. Jones, that can be arranged…"

Sam squealed as she was pulled on top of him, and she scrambled to support herself, refusing to put all her weight on him. After all, he was meant to be sick! But she settled on top of him, propping herself up on her forearms. Her face in line with his, she looked deeply into his eyes, as if she were trying to read his thoughts.

And he was thinking, although he couldn’t tell if it was too much or not enough at all. He was trying to work out his own subconscious, the same way it was apparently staring back into him.

So many questions were begging to be asked. Why Sam? When did she become this figure to him? When did this ever cross his subconscious? But he couldn’t ask her those things, because if he asked her, she would answer. And what would he do if that answer ripped this away from him? He would return to that cold bed, and the nauseatingly painful memories it entailed.

He had laid in this bed for so many years, feeling pain or nothing at all. But as she laid here on top of him, he felt the ice melting from his chest. He could feel the way their heart beats took turns, and he could smell the familiar scent of her filling his lungs.

“Why did you marry me?” He asked, not realizing he spoke the words out loud. The chuckle she gave in return made his heart stop. He was waiting for it—the inevitable moment where she told him how foolish this was. How foolish it would be to believe anyone would want to love him. He almost wanted her to say it, and prove him right. 

But she didn’t. Instead, Sam lowered her face, pressing her lips so gently against his that he barely felt it at first. After taking a small breath, she kissed him harder, placing her hands on the back of his head to pull herself even closer.

Charles didn’t fight her. He melted into her touch, brushing his fingertips along the contours of her body. The way she kissed him was something he hadn’t felt in so long, he had almost forgotten how wonderful it felt. His heart ached when she pulled away ever so slightly, pressing her forehead against his, her eyes remaining closed.

“Because I love you, Charles Jones.” Her voice was so soft, as if the distance between them from growing further every moment they touched. “Always, and forever, I love you,” she continued, even softer now.

Charles opened his eyes, noticing that the dream was fading away from him. The light around them was growing brighter, and her touch was lighter by the second. He struggled to speak but managed to get out one last request.

“Please don’t leave me, Sam.” He could feel the strange, distant memory of tears welling in his eyes. He couldn’t stop them, and he didn’t even want to try. Although he couldn’t see her, he could feel her kissing the tears from his cheeks, finally whispering back, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Charles awoke in a panic, jolting up in bed. The air from the fan felt cold on his cheeks, and he raised his hand to feel the cold stains of the very same tears he had dreamt of.

But this time, there would not be anyone to kiss them away. He lowered his hand, staring at the empty ring finger. He looked at the empty bed, and the cold, impersonal room. Absolutely everything was the same, except now he sat wondering when exactly _this_ reality became the nightmare.


End file.
